Today the fate of the old king cockerel has been sealed. He will not be taking a tumbril to Madame La Guillotine. He is too beautiful and too gentle of spirit to put him in the pot just yet. We are building him a dowager house from which he can observe the political shenanigans of the princeling next door with a wry smile, and he will see out the rest of his days with a couple of handmaidens and a nice view of the lake.
That's if I can find the energy after a night playing Florence Nightingale again to my little asthmatic...
8 comments:
While he's still alive, pluck him regularly enough to make a feather duster outta him. That'll shut him up, quick smart....
Good on yer! No mmore than his due.
Sorry, but I'm thinking about capon now :-P
It's good to be king. What a great retirement plan.
I'm Nurse Nightingale too this week. My girls have been home for 3 days from school. Some serious crud going on over this way.
♥
Joy
When I get old enough to be bested by the would-be queen living under my roof, I think I shall move in with that rooster. Not a bad way to go, I think.
We, too, are in the midst of steroids, antibiotics, and breathing treatments here. Such a loooooong winter!
The rooster on retirement! Cool! --- Oh, to be the recipient of momma nurse attentions when one is sick!!
Florence Nightingale and Tumbrels and the Terror. An interesting juxtaposition all in one paragraph. Wheeze is good when you are alive. This means that breath goes in and goes out again albeit with some difficulty.
And then there are tumbrells. I read that when the executed the King, throngs leaped up to the guillotine to scoop up his Royal Blood. It had the royal magic imbued in it. I wonder if adoration is love?
Please tell me he will live there all his days... Please don't put him in the pot!
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